


The Taste of Strawberries

by TruthandAdare



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance, Undying Lands, make yourself a cup of tea and enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandAdare/pseuds/TruthandAdare
Summary: Sam prepares to travel further from The Shire than ever before to be reunited with Frodo across the sea.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	The Taste of Strawberries

It was a particularly pleasant June evening when Rosie Gamgee took her last quiet breath.

Peaceful was her death, as was her life. Her final moments were spent in dreamless slumber, accompanied only by the light snoring of her beloved husband in bed next to her, the song of crickets, and the _plop_ of raindrops against the window glass. 

She left behind 13 children, and….oh dear Sam had long lost count of the grandchildren, let alone the great-grand ones. Her life was full of song and food and vitels. It was a long one, a happy one. But old age did not fully soften the ache of losing a hobbit such as she. 

There were a great many who had loved her and a great many more who would miss her.

Elanor, the eldest and most perceptive of the children Rosie had loved and left behind, was the first to arrive at Bag End the week after her mother’s memorial. Elanor hardly took one full step through the archway before stubbing a toe on a vase of yellow daisies and stumbling over a bushel of bright red apples. In the week since her mother’s passing, it seemed each individual hobbit of the Shire had left her widowed father with an army of flowers and freshly baked goods. The middle-aged hobbit wove through the cluttered jungle of generous grief gifts, the cool early morning light casting her shadow in dark blue against the walls as she searched for her father. 

She knew her aging father would be overwhelmed sorting through the labyrinth of tokens from well-meaning neighbors. He sat at his desk, surrounded by mismatched baskets of pies and flowers, his chin firmly in his wrinkled hands and eyes fixed outside. Elanor shuffled to him slowly, pushed back a plait of curled graying ringlets, and examined a nearby vase of sunflowers. 

“Well,” Elanor attempted to fill the silence, “Mamma would have liked these, don’t you think Sam-dad?” But her father simply eased his shoulders and nodded without glancing at the marvelous golden flowers she held. “We can put them in the sunlight,” said Elanor smoothly as she placed the vase against the windowsill before him. 

Her dear Sam-dad had never been a very melancholy hobbit. Though a little nostalgic ache sometimes trickled out when he shared his adventures and spoke of old friends long gone from these lands in one way, the ache never soured his tale. Even when the subjects seemed to more obviously weigh heavy on his heart or a detail would sting his eyes, he’d shrug it off, hum a little to himself, and carry on with his story with genuine delight.

For years, Elanor and her siblings had kept their suspicions to themselves about who he really held it together for. Though it didn’t really matter, so long as he was happy. And for the most part he seemed to be, though sometimes tea could help. 

“Dad…do you want me to make you a cuppa?” Elanor offered slowly as she gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

“With a little honey, if you don’t mind, Ela,” his voice was small, farther away than she’d anticipated. It left a shiver down her spine and a lump in her throat. She thanked herself for finding a quick exit so she could sob quietly while preparing his tea. 

She returned swiftly, her eyes noticeably puffier and pinker than before. She was glad he didn’t mention them as she set his honeyed tea down beside a surprise slice of freshly baked tart. 

Elanor smiled down at him, hoping the sweetness might lighten the shadow blanketing him. Sam took the steaming tea into his hands and stared down at the sliver of tart, adorned with bright red strawberries and fluffy cream. Sam clenched his lips before taking a shaky sip of his tea.

“I do believe my greatest adventure is now behind me,” his words echoed softly into his mug but hung heavy in the morning air. 

“Hmm,” she hummed in encouragement and perched herself at the end of his hard wooden desk. 

“Loving your mother, building our lives here,” he gestured gingerly with his cuppa to the rest of the room. Elanor clutched her own warm mug to her chest then, bracing herself for a second wave of tears. Perhaps she should have stayed in the kitchen hidden away with the rest of the mid-summer tart, oversteeped tea, and her swollen heart. “Seeing you all grow up into….apologies,” his voice cracked down the middle and her heart with it. 

He fiddled with his wrinkled handkerchief and dabbed his misty eyes hurriedly, “We made a good—a great life here...and I never thought I’d see it.” He took his time, sipped his tea once more, and took a long look out the open window as the sun began to peek in, illuminating the sunflower petals in a golden glow.

“Once,” he said slowly, his voice thick as the honey Elanor had swirled into his tea, “in a darker time— forgive my foggy mind, I may not remember all the details as clearly as when you were little…” he paused and glanced back down at the tart she’d brought him. “Your uncle Frodo and I sat upon the volcanic rubble of Mount Doom, surrounded on all sides by boiling lava and poison air.” 

She’d heard this scene from her father’s epic quest countless times, but something new swam through his words. A touch of the ache she’d heard in his tales before...but harder-edged. 

“And I...I spoke of her, your mother, and the life we could have had together. A little family, a garden all our own, and a hearth to keep our bellies warm, and the taste of….” 

“Strawberries,” finished Elanor gingerly, hearing his discomfort brewing. 

“He wrote that bit down….your uncle Frodo did,” he tapped the book that sat on the desk before him firmly. “He’d forgotten, ya see. All of it.” Elanor, unsure of what _all of it_ truly meant, rubbed a pinky finger against the back of his hand, welcoming him to carry on.

“It took it all from him, the feela wind on the cheek,” he continued in a rush, allowing each word to clatter from his lips like he’d been hiding them for too long. “The touch of summer grass. But it never left me,” Sam sucked in a trembling breath “haunted me more like— all these years...that it took the taste of strawberries away from him…” 

He stopped to set his mug down, lace his fingers together and place his thumbs to his lips. He hesitated, his mouth opening and shutting once more with a clack of teeth. “I loved your Mamma…” he finally choked out. 

“I know,” Elanor affirmed as she brought him tenderly toward her, capturing his damp cheek into the crux of her neck. 

“But….” he leaned away to look back at the book, his voice barely a whisper. “I…” Sam shut his eyes then and his back quivered against the creaky chair.

“I know,” Elanor repeated, giving his arm a light squeeze.

And she did. She’d known for a very long time. 

Her father loved her mother. He always would. 

But he also loved another. And he always would. 

She’d known by the way he spoke of his dearest friend. Of the agonizing details of the unimaginable journey they shared, or the way his voice cracked when he spoke of him sailing away when she was barely a toddler. And most of all, hearing him recount Frodo’s forgetting the splendors of the Shire….it had not just laid heavy on his tired heart for all those years.

Maybe it was a different kind of love than he shared with her mother, or maybe it was the same. It would have been cruel to all involved to evaluate which corner of his heart burned brighter. 

But, there was no denying who said weary heart belonged to now, near the end of his days. 

“I think,” Elanor began, edging a little closer to him and giving a soft sigh. “No,” she corrected herself. “I _know_ Mamma would only want you to be happy….And you know we want that too…” Elanor glanced down at the book he clung to, smiling softly, and wove her fingers through his atop the leather. “Maybe your greatest adventure _is_ behind you. But not your _last_.” 

Sam looked up to read his daughter’s face, his light green eyes meeting hers for the first time that morning. They widened suddenly. 

“I canna just--I can not just leave!” Sam gawked at her with a little shake of his head. “There’s--well for one there’s your Mamma’s rose bushes,” Elanor followed his grand wave toward the garden outside. The air was sweet, perfumed with the floral scent of her Mamma’s namesake bushes and the forest of flowers covering the room “They’ll need tendin’.” Sam seemed to ponder and took a moment to breathe, his eyes darting on a search for excuses. “And what about my vegetable--”

“You can leave with us next month,” Elanor ignored his muttering. “It's only a half day’s ride to the sea from there.” 

“I can’t….” 

Despite their old age, Elanor hadn’t expected to lose both her parents that summer. The loss of her sweet-tempered mother still clung on her heart like sap, sticky and raw and sickly sweet. No amount of knowing how peaceful or inevitable her passing was seemed to soothe the sting to her eyes or gnawing gloom in her belly at the thought of losing them both. Rosie hadn’t suffered. She lived the end of her life as any hobbit would wish, in peace. 

Her father deserved the same. A good ending. 

But all was well that ended _better_. If her dear father’s better ending began with departing from her life, if it meant she had to watch him disappear atop golden waves under a swift sunset, to say her last goodbyes in the same season she’d said farewell to her mother….if that was all she needed to do to help him spend his last few years with his love across the sea…..

Yes. In time, the loss was surmountable. 

Elanor gave a little sniffle as she wrinkled her freckled nose and blinked away from him.

“Will ya...” Sam’s eyes had fallen to his desk once more “Will ya take care of it?” He placed both hands on the book, but she knew that wasn’t all he meant. 

“I will,” she blustered out an incredulous laugh through her sniffles and bounced one of his unruly curls through her fingers. “But before you hand over all the family possessions we should give you a trim. Mamma always did a better job than me but--where do you keep your garden shears--” 

“Don’t you dare!” A shadow of horror washed over him and he flung his hands to knead his round wrinkled cheeks. Even the many years of peace and quiet after his return to Hobbiton could not hide the fact that he had seen 102 years and a handful of days. He searched her expression through blurry eyes. “What if I’m not…” he gave a painful pause “What if he takes one look at me, all withered and ancient and soft-- and puts me right back on the ship I sailed in on?” 

“Oh!” Elanor giggled through a gasp. Sam eyed her cautiously, but a bashful smile bloomed across his face. She hadn’t seen a smile like that on him since before Mamma had...no. She had never seen him wear a smile like that. 

_Aha_ , thought the fair she-hobbit, _this is a better ending indeed._

“Then he’s a fool and doesn’t deserve you,” Eleanor strode behind his chair and scooped him into an enormous hug. She wrapped her arms tightly over his chest and placed her chin against his shoulder. “And I’ll travel to the Undying Lands myself to cast him into the fires of the nearest volcano—which is exactly where he’d be anyway if you hadn't been so— “ 

“Yes, yes...you're right,” Sam returned her embrace with a squeeze, “You’ll keep it safe.” She watched as he traced a finger over of the book, the golden lettering shimmering with the remnants of tears. “Don’t let Goldi get a hold of it and try to zhuzh it up with all her fancy leafing. This is a historical telling! No need for illustrations.” 

“I’ll do my best,” she teased and squeezed closer as he chuckled against her.

They remained there, sipping their tea, alone in a comfortable quiet. They watched in silence as Sam’s well loved garden slowly began to drip with the warm glow of summertime sunlight. Elanor wondered if the sun shone brighter in the Undying Lands, a question that would remain unanswered. She didn’t mind. 

It was a good while before Sam finally fiddled with the silver fork, picked at the little tart, and took a luxurious bite of the freshest, sweetest strawberry of the season. 

* * *

The journey across the sea had been stiller than Sam imagined. Childhood tales of crashing waves and violent hurricanes swallowing ships into the briny deep caused him more than a little anxiety before boarding the Lune. To his relief, little more than gentle currents and calm cool winds guided the Elven ship's safe and leisurely passage. The elegantly crafted vessel sliced across the ocean like a sword through silver syrup, leaving only shimmering ripples behind. 

Content to use his old Elven cloak as a shield from the wrath of late-summer sun, Sam spent much of the journey gazing in wonder across the glittering waves. The sunlight danced atop the sea by day in bright gold and lush blue. He rested his elderly eyes shut and basked in the warmth, listening to the splash of lapping surf. 

It was the night that he treasured most of all, for that was when the stars awakened. The glassy water seemed to hush even further in those late hours and mirrored the image of a boundless field of vibrant constellations.

The expanse of glittering stars stretched across the horizon dancing amongst an amethyst, ruby, and sapphire sky. As Sam gazed upon the marvelous sea, time slipped through his mind as stream water through mossy pebbles. It rocked him, lulling his conscience to something nestled betwixt a daydream and blissful slumber. 

The first glimpse Samwise the Brave caught of Valinor, made his breath catch in his throat. The air that caught within his gasp was cool and fresh against his tongue and nostrils as if he’d just swallowed a gulp of cold peppermint tea. 

It was nearing dawn when he saw them; two bright lights growing ever nearer and stronger. They glowed side by side and reflected in the water below. 

On the left, a blood orange light glowed hot and bright as burning embers. It reflected red and gold in the ocean’s mirror, an otherworldly flame beaconing their arrival. On the right, a brilliant glow of white tinged with a soft aquamarine that took what little was left of his breath away. The twin lights seemed to vibrate and sway, with sparkling specks of light drifting upward to join the dimming stars like fire sparks. 

He wasn’t a scholar by any regard, but Sam knew his tales. 

“I thought--I thought the Two Trees were destroyed...made into…” he looked toward the glowing silvery moon then to the peaking hue of sunlight against the eastern horizon, momentarily afraid they may have vanished from the sky. 

“They were,” answered the vessel’s captain coolly as she too took in the sight of the coming land. “Those are only beacons, made by my people to guide our way.” 

“A spell?” 

“A mirage,” the elf continued. “They are barely a fifth the size of Laurelin and Telperion.” 

“They must have been a wondrous sight to behold back in the day.” 

The captain had nothing to say to that, but Sam was satisfied to watch the lights of the mirage beacons fade as they reached the shores of Valinor in silence. 

He had pondered many times what the legendary lands might look like; perhaps rivers of honey, diamond sanded beaches, or trees of spiraled pearl and obsidian.

There were no such otherworldly wonders to behold, replaced in reality by a land spectacularly wild and teeming with recognizable life. The land was awakening before them under the glow of morning light. Bright emerald green vines and grasses tumbled to the shore’s edge, tangled in vibrant flowers whose petals opened wide as the boat passed and filled the air with an herbal freshness Sam could not discern. Ancient willow trees leaned over the water of the bay, their leaves kissing the sea with a gust of wind. Beyond, Sam could just make out the outlines of giant pines and sycamores as their broad needly branches swayed in the breeze. At the floor of the lush buzzing forest grass as warm as marigolds mingled with a breathtaking array of multicolored wildflowers and glowing turquoise mushrooms, the likes of which Sam had never seen before. The sight of them made his horticultural heart sing. 

A handful of structures came into view as they glided into the calm harbor, buildings of weaving architecture akin to ones he’d seen in elvish cities. But here, nature twisted and melded with the structures so greatly, it was difficult to distinguish between the beautiful stretch of blossoming wisteria and ivy, or the building it clung to. 

On the paths between the greenery covered buildings, lean figures roamed, their faces too far to make out. 

Sam felt the first shiver of nerves since leaving the Gray Havens as the boat slid soundlessly through a patch of flowering lilypads to lay anchor at the milky white docks. Sam shifted his silver vest absently and fiddled with a loose button on his vest. There were no mirrors aboard the Lune, but he felt a sudden urge to take a peek at his reflection in the water below. 

“Prepare to disembark master hobbit,” the captain said cooly, snapping Sam out of his anxious daze and sending him stumbling away from the ship’s railing with ringing ears. 

A youthful-looking elf maiden welcomed Sam to Valinor. She called him _Ring-bearer_ and he had little nerve left to correct her. He’d never considered his time with the ring of power tucked in his pocket as more than a blip. It was Frodo who bore the true burden...and he who deserved the title, and to live out the rest of his years in such a beautiful peaceful place. 

Sam was too old to feel shame, but his heart did a momentary flip. Was he only going to remind Frodo of a past he wished to forget? He had only carried the ring of power for a fraction of time, but he felt a similar prickle of dread then as the elf-maiden guided him up a grassy path. 

“Is er….” Sam stammered, his voice felt hoarse and chilled with anxiety. “Is he expectin me?” 

“Yes,” the elf-maiden assured without looking back at him. “Master Baggins has been anticipating your arrival to Valinor for many years.” 

_Oh_ . _Oh my._

His heart skipped again, though this time without the spiciness of impending doom.

The elf-maiden was a swift walker and he had to partially skip to keep stride. They strode down into a wide meadow, the harbor disappearing behind them in the expanse of trees and golden wildflower fields. His guide left him when they approached a patch of large crimson barked trees at the edge of the meadow leaving him alone to marvel at the homes as he passed. Each had it’s own distinctive design, with a carved door and flower boxed windows.

Sam stopped in his tracks as he noticed the abode at the far end. 

It was the smallest of the broad trees with a round emerald door, white fence practically buried by hydrangea bushes so untamed and wild they could have been mistaken for blue and purple clouds. And at the front of the house, sat between patches of unkept fuchsia and azalea, an elderly hobbit smoked a long wooden pipe and glanced up from the book in his hand. 

Sam stepped gingerly down the rest of the distance, his heart pounding in his ears and tough hobbit feet kicking tiny pebbles as he went. He stopped at the opening of the hydrangea gate and took in the sight of the old hobbit in front of him.

Despite the gray receding hairline, wrinkly face, and slightly hunched back, the elderly hobbit before him was unmistakably Frodo. Sam swallowed a gasp as their eyes, both hazy and milky with age, met. 

Sam’s memory had failed him, for it was only then, after all those years that he remembered just how splendid it was to look into Frodo’s large blue eyes. 

Frodo remained seated, but a smile crept over his face as he set his book beside a plate of brightly colored fruit on the table and took a slow puff of his pipe. He seemed to be waiting, patiently but with a touch of mirth behind those splendid eyes of his. 

Sam was certain he’d forgotten how to breathe. He could hardly find the right words to say let alone one. Had he forgotten to speak entirely?

“Is Bilbo...?” He finally settled on a question, unsure of where to begin. 

“He passed years ago,” Frodo’s voice was not so different than when they had parted and the sound of it sent a wave of chills down Sam’s tired spine. “Gandalf left as well.” Frodo gestured to the other end of the bench with his pipe. Sam felt as though he was hovering through the morning air as he drifted through the gate and took a seat beside Frodo, his body numb and weightless. “And Rosie?” 

“She passed on Mid-summer Day,” Sam clarified swiftly with a pang of sorrow. 

“Sam,” Frodo’s voice was low “I’m so sorry.” 

“We were happy,” Sam said genuinely but hoped that’s where they would leave it for now. Frodo, likely sensing his old companion’s discomfort, reached into the pocket of his brown vest and brought out a second pipe. He lit it with a shaking hand and presented it to his friend.

“And Elanor and little Frodo?” 

“Oh!” Sam took a mighty puff of the gifted pipe and crossed one leg over the other. “All grown up and in burrows of their own. Had 11 more, in the end.” 

“Children?!” Frodo’s eyes bulged as his jaw dropped and a flurry of chuckles tumbled out of him in disbelief. The sound of it startled Sam, but something sparked in his chest then. An old feeling, and one he quickly tucked away so as not to embarrass himself. 

“I can hardly believe it myself. An’ ‘little Frodo’,” Sam continued “He prefers we call him _Gee_ ,” Sam joined his friend in his mirthful giggles then. “Don’t ask me why. But makes sense to have his own name.”

“Well, he’s a grown hobbit now--” 

“And a father no less,” Same watched as Frodo gave a sudden sigh in glee.

“You’re a grandfather!” 

“Great grandfather if you can believe it,” Sam beamed. “Youngest great-grand one is Elanor’s; Belladona. Beauty like her mother and only 3 months old when I left.” He chuckled “you should have seen her, born with a full head of red curls— I mean bright carroty red” 

“Old farmer Gammidge orange?” 

“Yes! Gammidge orange that’s right! No freckles though.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence then, both puffing on their pipes and watching the bumblebees and butterflies busy themselves among Frodo’s plants. 

“It’s been so long,” Frodo sighed, breaking the stillness.

“Has it?” Sam teased. 

Frodo edged closer to his dear friend, scooted his rear across the bench until he could wrap Sam into his thin arms and rest his head against Sam’s shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you.” Sam leaned into the embrace and breathed in the warm citrus spruce smell of a love he’d kept buried for all those years. They’d huddled together like this once before, though now in place of magma and venomous fumes, they were surrounded by wild daisies, coiled ferns, and pipeweed smoke. 

“You’ve no idea Sam,” Frodo whispered into the curls atop Sam’s head. 

“I...I think I do have some idea….” 

Frodo twisted to look into Sam’s eyes once more and the tenderness in the old hobbit’s gaze engulfed Sam in a blanket of chills and sent his heart into a spinning maelstrom. It was enough to swallow Sam whole and left him breathless. 

Frodo’s lips were too close now, only a wisp away. And though in each of his most unchaste fantasies, Sam was always the one to be kissed; it was he who closed the tiny space between them as he captured Frodo’s lips with his own.

Frodo’s response was slow but unhesitant and he squeezed in closer to Sam. He brought a cool hand to trace Sam’s jawline, the air of his leisurely sigh tickling Sam’s cheek. 

Sam deepened the kiss then, taking in the very welcome sensation and taste of him. His love tasted of fresh peppermint. Of the slightly bitter tang in smokey pipeweed. And he tasted of something else...something sweet and— 

Sam broke away gently and glanced down at the plate of fruit that sat uneaten on the opposite side of Frodo. 

A plate of dark blue blackberries, crisp green apples, and yes…

 _Strawberries_. 

Sam smiled. 

“There’s only one bed,” Frodo said suddenly, his cheeks dimpled with a bashful smile and tinged pink.

“Oh,” Sam mused as he brought an arm around Frodo’s shoulder and guided him to lean back, “I think we can manage.” 

“Yes, I think we shall.” 

“I’m glad you came Samwise Gamgee,” purred the most content Frodo Baggins.

“Why’s that?” 

“I was in desperate need of a gardener.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little domestic fluff! It brought me great happiness to write and I'd love to hear what you think. 
> 
> Huge thank you to my dear friend Georgia for helping me workshop this


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